JOHNMICHAEL SIMON POETRY

Nothing slips normally from your lips

polite deceptions, clever little lies

and made up things, asides and quips

but not a word about what hides inside

 

Those lips painted across your face

like a Picasso painting underneath two eyes

one pointing east one west that show no trace

of goings on behind your glib disguise

 

Silence would more become you clowning friend

even a curse some angry howl or scream

I’m sick of all your trying to pretend

that neither hate nor love are what you mean